


as sweet as the sound

by vervains



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 1995 Pride and Prejudice Lake Scene but better and Gay, Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice, Alternate Universe - Regency, And go on picnics, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Na Jaemin-centric, they ride horses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vervains/pseuds/vervains
Summary: jaemin is always meeting jeno, meeting his lips, the weight of the feelings they’d kept restrained blooming to life like spring around them.
Relationships: Lee Jeno/Na Jaemin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	as sweet as the sound

**Author's Note:**

> please excuse any historical inaccuracies, linguistic or cultural. i tried my best, but there's only so much i can do without the story sounding stiff, so i took some liberties. also, please do check out waltz in a minor by chopin, which is what jaemin plays (yes, pride and prejudice was set when chopin was a baby but it's fic) 
> 
> i do hope you all enjoy <3

The dances pass in a riot of fabric, smiles, and lingering touches. The cheery tune of the piano matches the pace of Jaemin’s heart, skipping from one partner to the next, raw pleasure concealed behind a thin veil of politeness. His uncoordinated movements don’t deter the people of Meryton, who indulge in each practiced smile, each flourishing bow accompanied by laughter.

Jaemin has not had a single glass, but he feels like it when the song ends, and he brings the girl’s hand to his lips. The barest of touches, but it makes her blush, which makes him smile. With teeth. He’s not surprised at the reproachful look his sister throws his when she finds him, rosy-cheeked from her own ventures with Mark Lee, no doubt.

“There’s someone we’d like you to meet,” Dasom cries, straining to be heard over the clatter of boots, the eddies of conversation washing over them like waves. Over her shoulder, Mark smiles sunnily at him. They’re together often these days, one’s presence shining like the sun over the other. With the two of them bearing down on him, Jaemin doesn’t have the heart to refuse.

“I do hope they’re interesting,” he retorts, letting them pull him out of the parlour, the crowd carrying them to the far side of the room, next to a curtained balcony.

The boy that stands there makes Jaemin glad he wore his best clothes, his hair down in the waves his younger sister Aera likes to do for him sometimes. He runs his hand through the blonde locks, smiling when the boy’s eyes meet his own. They’re guarded, as is his whole posture, but not even this hidden corner of the room can drown him out. He’s a boy meant for the eyes to follow. 

Mark’s adoration is palpable when he introduces him, and Jaemin can’t help but think of complements. Not the sun and the moon, but the moon and the stars. 

“This is Jeno, my close friend,” he says. “And this is Jaemin, brother to the loveliest girl in the room.”

“That’s far from the truth,” Dasom murmurs, but Jaemin can’t scold her for her modesty. He’s too preoccupied drinking Jeno in, the dark hair that’s shorter than his and his regal jaw. If he were an artist, he would paint the slope of his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbones.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Jeno’s handshake is as smooth as his voice, which reminds Jaemin of the lighter bass notes on a piano.

“Pleasure’s all mine. Although I’m afraid my introduction was quite dull compared to my sister’s.”

Mark claps him on the shoulder good-naturedly. “No one could call you dull after seeing you,” he says, and the implication in his tone prompts a slow smile from Jaemin.

“At this rate, the room won’t be enough to fit his ego,” Dasom chides.

It’s here that Jeno’s indifferent expression finally breaks into a smile, albeit one Jaemin can’t discern the intentions of. “Surely, he can’t have that much to be proud of for one who dances with two left feet,” he observes, to Jaemin’s confusion and the amusement of the other two.

But he isn’t one to be deterred, not Jaemin. 

“That just means you thought me handsome enough to stare at. I hear a new song, would you care to test that statement?”

Mark makes a soft choking noise, and Dasom looks between the two of them, bemused. Jeno is taken-aback for the merest of seconds, and his expression, when caught off-guard, is strangely enticing. Jaemin feels disappointed when he recovers.

“I dare say you’re handsome,” he starts, and here, Jaemin’s smile grows, “but not enough to tempt me.”

He can’t scrounge up an answer to that. Jeno keeps his eyes on him for a few seconds longer and then excuses himself to get a drink. Mark apologizes for his friend’s rudeness, attributes it to him feeling uncomfortable around large crowds, but Jaemin doesn’t pay attention. 

Jeno’s retreating figure makes him feel the way he does when confronted with complicated sheet music. The only way to master it is to play through it.

  
  


—

  
  


The pouring skies put a damper on their hunting plans. 

The invitation to Netherfield Park comes as a surprise, but Jaemin takes it as a sign of good faith on Mark’s part. They’re joined by one of his friends, Chenle, who’s bent on playing cards, so the two of them have been humouring him for the better part of an hour while Jeno reclines on a chaise lounge, reading. Jaemin keeps getting dealt hands with no tricks, and he can’t tell if it’s Chenle’s dealing or his own terrible luck.

Perhaps it’s both. He spends most of the game of whist scored out, making lazy observations over Chenle’s shoulder, much to his annoyance. The rain falls in torrents, cascading down the window opposite him. Unfortunately, the glass provides him a watery view of Jeno, who stretches ever so often while turning the pages of his book.

There’s still awkwardness between them, but judging from his clumsy efforts to talk to him, Jaemin thinks he’s trying to rectify his bad first impression. However, Jaemin can’t resist teasing him whenever he reaches out, enjoying the way he reddens and stumbles to retort. Jeno doesn’t find this as amusing as Jaemin does and has resorted to avoiding him.

With a sigh, he tears his eyes away from Jeno’s reflection and looks down at his dreadful hand. He has no trumps.

“You’re out again,” Chenle says triumphantly as he throws down his last, worthless cards.

“We all have turns of luck,” Mark adds in an unnecessary attempt to console him. Jaemin raises a shoulder in a shrug. He feels the weight of Jeno’s gaze on him, and it’s heavy. Imposing. Shaking it off, he rises to his feet.

“Let’s have some music,” he announces.

Mark and Chenle wave him away. The piano though, happens to be placed close to Jeno’s seat. Jaemin lets his fingers dance across the top of the chaise lounge as he moves to sit at the instrument, but Jeno doesn’t react. He can’t even let that agitate him when he rests his fingers on the gleaming keys. The piano is a far-cry from his battered forte at home, and he half-admires and resents it for the fact.

The waltz he chooses to play always makes him a little melancholic, so he makes sure to pick out those hopeful notes, drag them out for as long as he can without disturbing the tempo. It’s one of the earliest pieces he learned, and a faraway part of him thinks that’s the reason he chose to play it in this enormous house, with its enormous purses and egos.

Jaemin smiles at the thought. It clashes with his long-held romantic ideal that Chopin must have been a little in love when he composed the piece, but somehow, it feels suited to the place, to the dreary weather. Almost like hope between waves of loneliness. His sisters would have scolded him for getting so morose, so he tries to lighten his touch, not get too lost in the music.

Jeno’s presence next to the piano when he finishes is a strange triumph, unlike the praise he gets from his family whenever he plays. This is a different kind of recognition, one that simmers between them in uncertain notes.

“That was a strange choice,” Jeno remarks with a blink, as if pulling himself out of a particularly engrossing thought.

Jaemin tips his head in thought. “Do you play?”

“No,” the fondness is palpable in his response, “but my sister does.”

“I’m sure she’s much better,” Jaemin responds, though he isn’t sure why he says it.

Jeno looks like he wants to say something to that, but thinks better of it. Instead, he says, “I didn’t know you were musical.”

Jaemin raises an eyebrow in challenge. “You don’t know many things about me.”

Jeno leans forward to let his fingers drift over the keys, leaving soft yet discordant notes in their wake. They move closer to Jaemin’s own, and their fingers touch for the slightest second before Jeno pulls away. Jaemin’s throat grows dry. Any suspicions that it wasn’t on purpose disappear when Jeno smiles, a smile that prompts a gentle roaring in Jaemin’s head. 

“I know you’re a better pianist than a gambler,” he murmurs.

Or maybe the roaring is the sound of the rain. Either way, he smiles at Jeno, a rare smile without animosity.

“It’s a start.”

—  
  
  


Jaemin feels like he’s on wings.

Bonnie’s hooves beat faster and harder under him, his reins digging into Jaemin’s ungloved hands. He didn’t bother with his riding clothes, didn’t even bother saddling the horse before taking off. He has a point to prove, and he’s going to do it with the least help possible. Call him reckless, but the faster Netherfield disappears in his wake, the more ferocious his focus becomes.

He hears Jeno on his heels, and the provocation makes him look over his shoulder, throwing him a subtle wink. He rides well, but Jaemin’s spent his entire life covertly befriending the stablehands, who knew better how to control a horse than any gentleman. The wind whips his hair into his face as leans further down, the tree-line that separates the estate from the forest coming into view.

He reaches it first, slowing Bonnie to a canter so he doesn’t veer into the trees. His collar is askew and his hair probably looks a mess, but he grins madly as he dismounts, boots trampling the wildflowers. He pats Bonnie affectionately on the nose as Jeno slows to a stop, torn between distress and awe.

“Are you looking for ways to die?” he exclaims, still atop his horse, a white mare that complements him rather smartly, Jaemin thinks. 

“Bonnie would never let that happen, would you?” Jaemin coos at his horse. “Now I believe you owe me.”

Jeno drops off his horse, running a hand through his hair, putting it into even more of a disarray. His skin glistens under the afternoon sun, yet he doesn’t look the least bit winded when he approaches Jaemin.

“How much was our wager?” he asks, and he’s standing close enough that Jaemin notices how long his eyelashes are.

“I’ve forgotten,” he admits, which earns him a raised eyebrow. “But I have a counter-offer.”

“Name it,” Jeno says in the careless way of the rich, and Jaemin wants to laugh.

“Tell me why you refused me.”

Jeno’s brow furrows. It shouldn’t be as charming as it is. “What?”

“The ball. You refused my hand. Why?”

He doesn’t sneer or laugh at him like Jaemin expects him to. He looks uncomfortable, a hand drawn up to his chin either in thought or to conceal his expression. The silence grows long enough for Jaemin to realize the ridiculousness of his question, and he begins to backtrack just as Jeno speaks up.

“I’m… not the best with people I don’t know,” Jeno confesses. Jaemin’s confusion just makes him redden in that way he… likes? Yes, that’s the word. “It takes me a while to become comfortable with strangers.”

Jaemin stares, and his lips start to twitch. Then he’s actually laughing, a full sound that encompasses the valley around them, making Bonnie swish his tail as if he too is amused. The only person who remains silent is Jeno, but he has a hard time controlling his own expression, a smile slipping through the cracks.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accuses, but not unkindly.

Jaemin composes himself long enough to respond. “You didn’t want to dance with me because you’re _shy_?”

Jeno pulls at his collar in distress. “That’s a plain way to say it.”

“But it’s true! Here I thought you didn’t find me attractive enough.”

It slips out without him meaning to, and he wishes he had better control of his mouth. It’s Jeno’s turn to smile, a coy smile that does funny things to Jaemin’s insides.

“I thought you were well-convinced otherwise.”

“Maybe if you would admit it,” Jaemin grumbles.

Jeno strides closer, a hand at his hip in challenge.

“If you beat me in the race back to the estate, maybe I will.”

Jaemin’s grin returns. He has a way of doing that, of playing along in their little game in a way that appeals to him. He agrees and climbs onto Bonnie’s back as Jeno mounts his own horse. Entirely on purpose, he gives Jeno a split-second of a head start, which is enough for his horse to go ahead of him. 

He looks at him over his shoulder, in a mirror of what Jaemin did before.

Jaemin simply waves his hand, urging Bonnie forward. “Maybe this time I’ll let you win,” he calls over the sound of thudding hooves and the growing desire marked in every beat of his heart.

  
—

  
  


Wildflowers tickle the back of Jaemin’s neck as he brings his hand up in front of his face, sunlight dancing through the gaps in his fingers. The lake beside their picnic spot glimmers at the edge of his view, the sound of insects buzzing melding with the conversation of his own party. He’s glad they came alone, smuggling clumsily packed baskets of food and drinks from the kitchen, trying not to laugh as they cut through the grounds.

They camped under a canopy of branches, where the ground sloped gently to meet the lake. Mark and Dasom sit facing the water, twin blonde heads bent as they talk in low voices, the occasional throaty laughter punctuating their conversation. It’s as much privacy as they can get, owing to the times, and Jaemin’s glad to assist where he can. He didn’t expect the same tolerance from Jeno, but he’d been the one who distracted the help while they left, joining them later with windswept hair and flushed cheeks.

It was a sight, but he always is. Even now, standing far off at the edge of the lake, there’s a beauty about him that Jaemin isn’t eloquent enough to describe. He admires it but has a feeling that Jeno uses it as a shield, adding it to the armour of his reserved demeanor. Jaemin, who’s used to wearing his heart on his sleeve, doesn’t understand Jeno’s need to hide.

But he wants to.

He sets aside the ginger beer he’s been sipping on, uncaring how the glass tips and the liquid trickles to the ground. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” he calls to Mark and Dasom before he leaves, who are gracious enough not to answer. He finds a few smooth stones in the grass on his way to Jeno, who turns to offer a tentative smile in greeting.

“Shame we didn’t bring a change of clothes, isn’t it?” Jaemin asks, eyeing the water. “I could do with a swim.”

“You’d turn that into a competition too,” Jeno responds with a hint of amusement. Jaemin shrugs at the remark. Growing up as the eldest son and the heir to their small estate has seen him a significant lack of people who could challenge him. He voices this to Jeno, who looks thoughtful.

“You feel the same?” Jaemin prompts at his expression.

Jeno smiles ruefully. “Why do you think I have so few friends?”

Jaemin looks at Jeno, at how the breeze ruffles his hair. “Because you’re afraid of something,” he says before he can think about the words that leave him. Thankfully, Jeno doesn’t look angry. He just seems far away, as if relieving something in the past.

“I won’t pretend to be disadvantaged, but the position I have attracts some… unwanted attention.” At Jaemin’s expression, he hastens to add, “It doesn’t bother me too much, but I worry about my sister.”

Jaemin perks up. “What’s her name?”

Jeno relaxes visibly, and Jaemin admires the love he has for his sister. “Mina. She’s three years our junior. I think she would like you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Jeno looks straight at him. “Because I assume you don’t care where I come from.”

Jaemin considers that. He knows Jeno’s affluent. Far more than him, and even Mark. He heard whispers of his income at the ball in Meryton, the way every couple tried to get their children to strike up a friendship with him. As if it’d be a gateway to his wealth. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He now has a clearer understanding of Jeno’s concern for Mina.

“Well,” he says, “I can assure you that I don’t.”

Jeno’s eyebrows shoot up, but the corners of his mouth soften in a way that speaks of relief. Jaemin grins, fishing out one of the stones he’d found earlier.

“But I _do_ care about how far you can skip these stones.” At the end of his sentence, he throws his arm back, flinging the stone out. It sails through the air, skipping over the water once, twice, thrice before sinking. “Are you interested?” 

Jeno smiles, and it’s full now. It lifts the edge off his face, softening his eyes and cheeks until he looks more boy than rich, eligible bachelor. He catches the stone Jaemin lobs at him with ease. And he doesn’t protest when Jaemin pulls him by the hand, wanting him to stand at the exact spot he had. He pretends it’s because he’s particular, but his touch lingers longer than it needs to.

“What do I get if I win?” Jeno asks, pushing back the billowy sleeves of his shirt.

Jaemin grins. “The pleasure of my company. No ulterior motives included.”

Jeno rolls his eyes, actually _rolls_ them, and takes his shot.

The stone skips thrice, just as Jaemin’s had.

“A tie,” he breathes. “I guess we’ll just have to keep going.”

Jeno laughs, and the sound seems to echo over the water. “Doesn’t that mean I get your company anyway?”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Jaemin asks, his arms spread on either side. He takes a step back towards the lake, not thinking much of the way Jeno moves closer. Missing the glint in his eye. “You get to bask in the presence of Meryton’s most eligible—,” 

Jeno shoves him before he can finish his sentence. Jaemin’s smile falters, his feet scrambling for purchase on the green, his arms flailing, but no avail. The water is shockingly cold when he falls into it, the greenish-blue splash he makes obscuring his vision, his feet kicking to keep afloat. 

Feathery reeds tickle his skin, and his hair sticks to his face in wet strands. He can hear Mark and Dasom approaching, their worried cries receding when they notice he’s not in any true danger. And above it all, Jeno’s laugh rises, high and ringing through the glade.

“Don’t you want to finish your sentence?” Jeno teases, eyes full of mirth as Jaemin wades to the bank. In his gloating, he’d forgotten to stand at a safe distance. All Jaemin has to do is yank at his foot, and then Jeno’s topples into the water with a gasp, grabbing onto the closest thing he can in his shock.

It happens to be Jaemin. His hands wander against the skin of his stomach, hidden beneath the water. Jaemin grins at Jeno’s dazed expression, uncaring that Mark and Dasom are scolding them to get out of the lake, that they’d catch a cold.

“Meryton’s most eligible bachelor,” he finishes, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

“What a privilege,” Jeno gasps out. There are reeds in his hair, and he keeps squinting against the water that has gotten into his eyes. But still, a vision. “I’m honoured.”

“Likewise,” Jaemin says. He feels Jeno’s hands fall away from his torso, and the disappointment cuts through the coldness of the water. “Now, let’s get out before those two get in here themselves.”

They end up having to use the cloth they’d brought along for the picnic as a towel, shaking their heads like dogs to get the moisture out. No care for propriety, just the way Jaemin likes it. He locks eyes with Jeno while Mark and Dasom fuss over them, remembering his laughter.

It resonates in his head the rest of the day and the one after.

  
  


—

  
  


When the invitation to dine at Netherfield arrives, it has both Dasom’s and Jaemin’s names on it. The invitation may have come from Mark, but the elegant script that his name was written in hasn’t left his head since he first read it. Jaemin is growing tired of him and Jeno running circles around each other. Maybe Jeno couldn’t settle on his feelings yet, but Jaemin has, and this day could be the opportunity he needs.

He and Dasom spend the next day in town, picking up a gown for her at a dressmaker’s and some new boots for himself. Aera insisted on tagging along, wheedling Jaemin into buying her some satin ribbon to trim hats with. The purchases put a significant dent in his pocket, but Jaemin doesn’t mind treating his sisters to something nice. With the modest income from their estate, it’s not often they splurge on things.

“Is Mark Lee going to be there?” Aera asks for the hundredth time as they walk across town back to where the driver is waiting with their carriage. 

“I’ve already told you he is, Aera,” Dasom chides, but she can’t hold back her smile. “It’s kind of Jeno to ask you along as well, don’t you think?”

Jaemin doesn’t miss the underlying question.

“It isn’t a word I would have connected with him before, but yes.”

It’s true. Jeno has a hard time with his words, and his quietness comes off as rudeness to others. Jaemin himself had been a victim of that misconception. But underneath his shyness is someone genuine, who becomes freer in the company of those he cares for. Jaemin wonders if he falls under that category now. It’s an indulging thought.

“I would so love to come along,” Aera breathes, and the thought of his headstrong younger sister meeting Jeno is so ludicrous that it makes Jaemin laugh, which earns him a scowl.

They walk on, waiting to cross the street for one last detour to a bookstore. Dasom steps out first, and Jaemin notices the speeding chaise and four in the nick of time, darting out to pull his sister back to safety. One of the postillions offers a hasty apology, touching his hat to them before they move on, leaving a cloud of dust and debris in their wake.

“They’re in a hurry,” Jaemin mutters. Dasom appears shaken, but alright. Aera is still fantasizing about the Lees.

“I suppose _they_ have a chaise and four as well,” she broods. The entire ride back to their estate, she muses about their lives, what sort of paintings they have in their houses, and how lovely it would be if she could visit their library. Jaemin listens with half an ear, his mind still on their near accident. They aren’t many in Meryton who could afford to have a chaise and four, and his speculations weigh on his mind till they reach home.

His premonitions come true when they return to find one of the servants in distress. He hovers anxiously by the front door, a letter clutched in his hands. Jaemin’s worry grows when he notices it isn’t sealed or in an envelope.

“Is it our parents?” he asks, snatching the crumpled paper.

“No. It was left here for you by a… a gentleman. He seemed to be in a hurry.”

Jaemin’s face pales. The letter is short, more of a note really, and Jeno’s script is decidedly less elegant. The ink has blurred in places, as if he forgot to blot it after writing. Jaemin almost forgets to hide it from view as his sisters try to peek at it over his shoulder.

_“Jaemin,_

_I’m afraid we’ll have to put off our plans. There was an unfortunate incident with my sister, and I have to leave for London at my earliest. Convey my apologies to your sister that Mark has to accompany me._

_I’m sorry I couldn’t see you in person. I’ll send news when possible._

_Yours,_

_Jeno.”_

Jaemin has to read it over a few times for the words to register. Like Jeno, his letter is impossibly vague. What could have happened with his sister? And why is it so grave that Mark had to follow him? He thinks back to the chaise and four that almost ran his sister over and connects the two incidents. A curse leaves his mouth, surprising his sisters.

“Is everything alright?” Dasom asks, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder.

“Luncheon has to be postponed,” Jaemin murmurs. He doesn’t know why Jeno trusted him with this, but he also doesn’t want his younger sister exposed to whatever happened. “The Lee’s are heading for London on urgent business.”

“London?” Aera cries. “Why is it they get all the excitement?”

Jaemin shushes her, getting the servant to usher indoors, the girl protesting all the way. Dasom stays behind, seeing through him in an instant. A similar expression of worry marrs her soft features. He lets her read the letter, her face turning graver by the second.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” she asks anxiously. “What do you suppose happened to his sister?”

“I don’t know,” Jaemin admits. He thinks of the money he has, and how much time it’ll take him to catch up with Jeno if he leaves immediately. “Let father know I’m taking Bonnie.”

“Jaemin!” Dasom protests. “You can’t mean to follow them. You don’t even know what they’re involved in.” She trails inside behind him as he rushes to grab the few things he’s going to take with him. 

“No, but they might need my help,” he counters. Dasom looks conflicted, but she doesn’t argue. Silently, she helps him gather a change of clothes. He counts his money and slides on his riding gloves. They can’t spare the drivers for the coach, so he’ll have to manage by himself.

“Reach out to our Uncle. He’ll be able to help when you get to Cheapside.”

Jaemin nods. “I’ll leave Aera to you. When our parents ask, don’t let them know how bad it is.”

“Don’t worry about things here,” Dasom says firmly. “And be careful.”

Jaemin smiles without humour. “Am I ever anything but?”

  
  


—

  
  


The exhaustion of a day and a half’s ride, and a hunt that took the rest of the second day catch up to him when Jaemin finally finds Jeno. With the help of his uncle, he searched around the pensions of London, looking for men who matched Mark’s and Jeno’s description. Sadly, searching for two gentlemen in London is like searching for a needle in a haystack.

They find them in a surprisingly modest establishment under an innocuous name. The landlord eyes Jaemin with reproach at first, but his uncle’s word is enough to convince him that Jaemin isn’t a street thief. He has no words with which to thank him for his kindness. His uncle takes it in stride, simply ushering him towards the rooms the landlord informs the two gentlemen have booked.

“Thank you.” Jaemin’s voice is hoarse as he shakes his uncle’s hand once the landlord leaves them. “I will make it up to you.”

“Nonsense,” his uncle huffs, waving him away. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

His uncle leaves him to face whatever may be behind that door. Without his companion, the hallway is utterly silent. When he knocks, he’s almost grateful for the noise it makes. Then the floorboards creak under footsteps, and someone coughs. Jaemin’s throat is dry when the door is opened by a fraction.

Surprised brown eyes peer out at him. He spies Mark’s curls, his rumpled clothes.

“Jaemin?” He opens the door wider. “What in the world?”

He pushes past him, too agitated to bother with pleasantries. The suite may have been pleasant, but the details fly over his head. “Where is he?”

“How did you—,” Mark doesn’t finish his sentence. “He told you?”

“What happened?” Jaemin presses. “Is he okay? His sister—,”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Jeno’s voice rings out, weighed down by weariness. Jaemin’s head whips towards the door he’d emerged from, and his heart drops. He looks shaken, more ruffled than Jaemin has ever seen him. He looks like he’s the one who rode a horse from Hertfordshire to London in two days.

Jaemin crosses the room in two strides. His instinct is to grab Jeno, to make sure he’s alright, but the wariness in his demeanor stops him from doing so. He settles for standing a step away from him, hands curling into loose fists at his side.

“You don’t look it,” he finally says. 

Jeno cracks a tired smile. “You’re not in the best state yourself.”

“Your letter was vague. I had to see for myself.”

Jeno drops onto a cushioned chair, and Jaemin does the same in the adjacent one. Mark remains standing by the door, his uncertain gaze traveling between the two of them. Jaemin doesn’t pepper Jeno with questions like he wants to. He’s learned that waiting it out is a better way to get him to say something. And he does, after a stagnant pause during which Jaemin wanted nothing more to do than pretend Mark isn’t in the room and wipe the frown off Jeno’s face.

“My sister,” his voice cracks a little as he starts, and he clears his throat before going on, “I set her up here in London so she could study. Music, like you. We thought her governess was to be trusted, but she took advantage of Mina’s kindness.”

Jaemin leans forward in alarm. “Is she alright?”

“We found her yesterday. Physically, she’s fine, but she’s very upset.”

“What happened to her?”

How Jeno tells the story plainly, Jaemin will never understand.

“The governess Kwon had a plan. She knew of my sister’s background, _my_ background. Together with an accomplice, she hoped to exploit her. This man tried to woo my sister. He succeeded, in fact. His scheme was to elope with her because he knew our family would not approve, and he manipulated Mina into agreeing. He would be entitled to her inheritance, you see.”

Jaemin listens in horror, thinking of his own sisters and how he’d pummel such a man with his bare hands.

“Thankfully, we found her before the deed was done. Mina refused to believe it, but Kwon and her accomplice left town right after we arrived. She’s distraught, but she’s safe and that’s what matters.”

Jaemin asks the question he knows the answer to which is plaguing Jeno, from the gauntness of his cheeks to the hollows under his eyes.

“Have you found them?”

It’s Mark who answers, sounding angry for the first time since they met. “Not a trace.”

Jaemin swears under his breath. Jeno meets his eyes, imploring. It’s the most vulnerable he’s seen him, and it makes his heart ache.

“You understand that word of this shouldn’t get out?”

Jaemin doesn’t take offence. He understands all too well.

“I won’t breathe a word. Dasom knows what you said in the letter, but neither will she.”

Jeno leans back in his seat. “I trust you,” he says simply. His gaze flits to Mark, whose troubled expression eases when he adds, “And Dasom.”

The knot that had been building up in Jaemin’s chest loosens. He starts to breathe free.

“I’m glad.”

“She might be happy to see another face once she feels better,” Mark chimes in, “especially that of a musician.”

Jeno smiles gently, a smile Jaemin now knows is reversed for those he cares deeply for. It vanquishes the doubts he had when he received his invitation. That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I think that’ll be good for her. Of course, that’s if you don’t mind?”

Jaemin thinks of the gap between his aloof first impression and the gentleness of this request and feels like something significant has passed between them during then and now.

“I’d be happy to.” 

  
—

  
  


It takes less time than Jaemin expects to get Mina to open up. Like her brother, she’s shy, but unlike him, she doesn’t conceal it under a layer of standoffishness. Jeno tells him she’s usually more lively, but they’re both aware that she’s doing the best she can under the circumstances. Jaemin strives to meet her halfway in their interactions.

She’s Aera’s age, which makes it easier for Jaemin to talk to her. She reminds him of her in a way, but a little more put together. Jaemin sees the similarities in the way Mina is resolute despite being soft-spoken, even standing up to Jeno when he begins to act like a mother hen around her, which is something he never expected to see.

Nevertheless, he likes seeing them together. Seeing them seated together at the piano, Jeno fumbling over the notes while Mina tries to guide his fingers to move how they should. Mina has performed for them often since their return to Jeno’s estate from London, and seeing her play is a revelation. Her notes are airier than his, filled with a lightness he’s glad the city didn’t steal from her.

He sees Jeno’s worry as plain as day. Privately, he doesn’t feel the same. There are times when Mina sits at the window, searching for something that only she can see, but there are also times when she plays for them, her clear voice accompanying the instrument. There are times when she purses her lips to hide a smile whenever Jaemin and Jeno start bickering or intervenes when they get carried away.

Jaemin knows she’ll be alright.

Today’s the day he’s set to leave for Longbourn, after a week at Pemberley House, Jeno’s estate. He’s written regularly to Dasom, but his family is anxious to have him back, and Jeno’s been urging him to go. Jaemin insists he can stay longer because he knows Jeno will start fussing over Mina the moment he leaves, but he doesn’t budge. He even arranges a carriage for him, with a driver for Bonnie.

Jaemin is powerless, and under different circumstances, he might have liked it.

“I suppose there’s no way I can change your mind?” he asks Jeno as they take a walk down his estate. Pink, orange, and yellow flowers are in bloom, which Mina picks occasionally and drops into a basket that Mark holds for her as they walk ahead. Jaemin much prefers doing something with his time, but he can’t deny the appeal of such a carefree life.

Jeno smiles at him wryly. “Didn’t you learn that’s a fruitless endeavour?”

“Of course. Your mind, once set, is difficult to change.”

“That’s usually the case.”

Jaemin pauses, drawing to a halt under the shade of a birch tree. Jeno turns to him questioningly, the heavy-hanging branches casting artful shadows over his face. The other two wisely chose to keep moving ahead. 

“You mean to say there’s an exception?” Jaemin asks, resting his back against the rough bark of the tree. Jeno moves so that the only thing separating them from touching are their layers of clothing. His hand searches for Jaemin’s and squeezes.

“Maybe,” he murmurs as their fingers intertwine. Jaemin’s heart stutters when he brushes his thumb across the back of his hand. The touch is achingly soft.

“Must you be so vague?” he complains. 

“Must you put so much weight on words?” Jeno shoots back. Jaemin doesn’t register his words; he’s more concerned with the shape his lips take uttering them. Soft, pink, and inviting, those lips. There’s that familiar roaring in his head again, but the skies are bright blue. Jeno’s eyes are brighter and shine with intent. Jaemin lets his own eyes shut as Jeno’s breath fans over his face. If he looks into them any longer, he’ll lose their little game.

“I’ll stop if you actually do something,” he whispers. 

And something he did. 

The first brush of his lips is tentative, as if testing the boundaries Jaemin’s willing to cross. Jeno smells clean and sharp, an addictive citrus that Jaemin tastes on his tongue. His sighs against their kiss, hands going to Jeno’s chest, curling against the fabric of his shirt. Something in Jeno shifts at that, as if he’s been waiting for that exact response. 

And then he’s kissing Jaemin time and again, leaving no room for thought in between, just a craving for more, until it’s just him, Jeno, and the growing warmth in his chest. It’s the same crazed euphoria Jaemin feels when he gets lost in a song, lost in the fields on Bonnie’s back. There, with Jeno’s silhouette blazing under the mid-afternoon sun, he feels undeniably connected to him, and impossibly free.

“You kept me waiting too long,” Jaemin murmurs as they pause to draw breath. Jeno rests their foreheads together, the tips of his eyelashes tickling Jaemin’s skin. He can’t see his eyes, can’t discern any more than a blur of features, but the solidness of his presence and the promise of what had just happened makes him more beautiful than ever before. 

“Always so impatient,” Jeno says with a chuckle, reaching to caress the back of Jaemin’s neck, his fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “We’ll have enough time later.”

Jaemin protests when he draws back, wanting the weight of Jeno’s body against his own, the feel of his leg tucked in between Jaemin’s. “They can spare us a minute longer,” he says, lips easing into a grin as he pulls Jeno down to meet him.

Always meeting him, meeting his lips, the weight of the feelings they’d kept restrained blooming to life like spring around them.

  
  


—

  
  


Jaemin returns to Pemberley two weeks after the kiss shared with Jeno under the birch tree. He didn’t mean to stay away for so long, didn’t want to, but Mark had a mind to propose to Dasom, so the entirety of Longbourn was in a flurry. It was all he could do to escape the clutches of his family, the urge to see Jeno getting worse under the preparations for the engagement.

He admires the estate properly for the first time—the sheer size of it and the fact that it wasn’t taken care of to the point of artificiality. Flowers grow in bushes that aren’t overly trimmed, and ivy climbs the walls of the house, which is grand without being ostentatious. Exactly like the siblings that inhabit it, he thinks.

Mina is the first to greet him, rushing out of the house the moment Jaemin dismounts Bonnie. She doesn’t bother with formality, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

“What kept you?” she cries, letting him go long enough to get a look at her face, which glows with happiness. “We were waiting.”

The insinuation makes him smile. “You can blame Mark,” he responds, letting her lead him inside. She’s in her riding habit, so Jaemin apologizes for interrupting her plans, but she won’t hear of it.

“I’m glad you’ve returned. He’ll have my head for telling you, but brother’s been in a mood since you left.”

“Is that so?” Jaemin asks, letting her usher him into a chair in the drawing room, requesting one of the maids to bring him something to drink. He never let himself imagine that Jeno might be feeling the strain of their separation, even after that kiss. This makes him hope.

Mina gives him a knowing glance that reminds him too much of Jeno. “You don’t have to pretend. He misses you.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Yes, he’s the sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeve, but he has trouble expressing those feelings in words. His smile turns rueful; it wasn’t long that he passed judgment onto Jeno for the same thing. 

Mina lets out a weary sigh. “Honestly, you’re both terrible,” she complains. “Isn’t age supposed to help with maturity?”

Jaemin presses a hand to his heart. “You mean to call me immature?”

Mina stares him down. “Yes, and willfully obtuse, both of you.”

“You wound me,” Jaemin whines.

“That wound will be literal if you don’t go see him,” Mina threatens, but her expression softens out of fondness. “ You rode a horse to London for him, but you’re this afraid of a conversation.”

“I did it for you too,” Jaemin interrupts.

“And I thank you for that, but there’s that obstinacy again. You both make each other happy, but you refuse to talk about it.”

Jaemin’s gaze falls to his lap, his lemonade lying forgotten next to him. His voice is impossibly soft when he speaks. “You think I make him happy?”

“Yes!” Mina cries. “I’ve never seen him as carefree as he was during the week you spent here, aside from his hovering over me. Do you not see it?”

Jaemin remembers the two of them in that lake, Jeno’s laughter and the softness of his fingers against his skin. He remembers their kiss, which he’s thought of every day since. It hits, the thing he’s been refusing to acknowledge, or rather, afraid to. And it doesn’t feel like a punch to the gut. Rather, it washes over him in a wave of realisation. 

“I’ll speak to him,” he promises.

“Good,” Mina smiles. “He’s in his study.”

“ _Now_?” Jaemin asks, his voice coming out strangled. 

It’s Mina’s turn to avoid his gaze. “What better time than the present?”

Jaemin bites back a wince, recalling how she’d been deceived. He gets to his feet and squeezes her hand in a gesture of silent support. He can tell Mina feels strongly about this for reasons other than caring about both him and Jeno. And he meant to have it out with him in any case, before London, before the kiss.

“I’ll go,” he says.

Mina smiles. “Thank you.”

Jaemin nods, his nerves growing taut with each step he takes away from the drawing room, and towards Jeno. A part of him wishes they don’t need to have this conversation, that they can keep on enjoying each other’s company, but he knows that isn’t right. As unconventional as he is, he can’t deny both of them that.

“Have lunch without me, Mina,” Jeno’s voice sounds when he knocks on the door, “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Jaemin smiles in spite of himself. “I can come back if you’d like.”

Something clatters to the ground. He hears Jeno curse.

“You need thicker walls,” he chirps when the door opens.

Jeno’s lips are parted, his face caught between a frown and a smile. He lets Jaemin inside, and runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the neat set to it. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he admits. Jaemin gets the feeling he’s staring at him, which is nice because it’s usually the other way around.

“It was a surprise,” Jaemin says. “A good one, I hope.”

Jeno looks bemused. “It’s not that I’m unhappy to see you but...why?”

Jaemin smiles, brushing aside some papers to lean against Jeno’s desk. “I heard you’ve been in a sour mood since I left.” It isn’t what he planned, but teasing is what he’s best at, and Jeno’s reactions are always perfect.

Like now, when he blushes in that way he loves. He draws a hand over his face to hide it, and Jaemin’s grin grows.

“Mina,” he says, and it’s not a question. 

“So I thought I’d grace you with my presence.”

Jeno snorts inelegantly. It seems Jaemin has the unique ability of making him forget his manners. “Meryton’s most eligible bachelor, I remember.” 

“Did you miss me?” Jaemin asks, tilting his head to the side. Jeno’s flush grows, but still, he draws closer to him.

“Possibly,” he murmurs, breaking eye contact.

“Pardon?” Jaemin prompts. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Jeno glares at him, albeit weakly. “You’re enjoying this more than you should.”

He’s close enough to touch now. Jaemin seizes the opportunity, one of his hands brushing against Jeno’s waist. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Jeno stays silent, so he keeps going. “I missed you too. I missed this.”

“What?” Jeno asks, and Jaemin’s glad he does because he has an excuse to steal the softest of kisses, Jeno curling into his touch instinctively as if their last kiss had stayed in his mind as well. Jaemin smiles into it, because it’s impossible for him not to around Jeno, beneath all his teasing and their verbal sparring.

This is a different kind of sparring in and of itself, one that Jaemin takes even more pleasure in.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Jeno murmurs.

“Why is that?” Jaemin coaxes, his fingers moving in slow circles over Jeno’s waist.

Jeno sucks in a deep breath that almost makes him worry. But when he looks into Jaemin’s eyes, there’s the same emotion he’s sure will reflect in his own, if he could see them. He presses his forehead against Jaemin’s, as he did a fortnight ago.

“I’m more than a little fond of you,” he whispers in confession, but he may well have shouted for the impact it has on Jaemin. The words chase away that final fear, that Jeno isn’t as invested as he is. Now, he’s finally free to express the depth of his feelings, though he doesn’t know how they came to run this deep.

Jeno draws away to give him an anxious glance, and Jaemin realizes he hasn’t said anything in response. 

“You’re in luck then,” he says, pulling him back to his chest, “I’m more than a little fond of you as well.”

Jeno starts to shake, and Jaemin’s alarmed for the seconds it takes him to realize he’s laughing. Quiet, incredulous laughter that makes him chuckle as well.

“You realize Mina’s probably listening in at the door,” he says, letting Jaemin thread his hands through his hair to bring him in for another kiss.

“Then she must be disappointed by that grand confession,” Jaemin responds, laughing. He sobers a minute later, remembering his promise to her and what he set out to do in the first place. “I meant it. Every word of it.”

Jeno nods, but Jaemin isn’t done because if he doesn’t go through with this now, he isn’t sure when he’ll have the courage to.

“You have my heart, Lee Jeno,” he says, voice quiet and serious. “It might not be the finest thing to offer, but you have it. All of it.”

“And you have mine,” Jeno whispers back. His eyes grow bright, and Jaemin doesn’t know if it’s in light of his confession or just because he’s standing in the sunlight, but it’s beautiful. Jaemin’s smile is so full it hurts, but he squeezes Jeno tight, half a mind to try and spin him around. He resists because they’re stuck between Jeno’s desk and a lounge, and will probably end up on the floor.

Not that he would mind. Jeno laughs when he voices this, the sound full and throaty.

“Do you think Mark and Dasom will be angry that we’re stealing their spotlight?” he asks when Jaemin has had his fill of kisses, their hair mussed and waistcoats askew.

Jaemin pretends to think for a moment, and shakes his head.

“I thought so too,” Jeno agrees, and this time, Jaemin recognizes the smile that means he’s going to do something risky, the one that he missed at the lake. Jeno’s kiss, however, takes him by surprise, the sheer intensity of it prompting a noise in the back of Jaemin’s throat as he leads him to the lounge.

As Jeno falls onto it, he _pulls_ and Jaemin goes down with him. He doesn’t mind. With Jeno’s arms around his neck, his legs tangling with Jaemin’s own, he's content to go wherever he does.

  
—  
  
  
  


Dancing is not Jaemin’s forte. But Jeno? Jeno moves with a grace that surprises him, the sureness of his movements at odds with his erratic pulse. He clasps Jaemin’s palm in his, and although he keeps stepping on his polished boots, he doesn’t seem to mind. They circle each other, and the melody from the house circles them, forming a little pocket in time that will not exist outside of Pemberley’s terraces.

“Do you remember that time I refused to dance with you?” Jeno asks, something like amusement in his eyes. Jaemin lets him twirl him around, his loose blonde hair fanning out, laughter at home in his voice.

“Will I ever forget?” Jaemin chuckles, remembering how indignant he’d felt, how slighted. Bathed in the light filtering in from the trees, his eyes impossibly soft, Jeno hardly feels like who he had been all those months ago at their first meeting. 

“Handsome, but not enough to tempt _me_ ,” he says in mimicry of Jeno’s imperious voice.

Colour rises into Jeno’s cheeks, softening the angular lines of his face. He lets up their movements to match the slower music. Jaemin doesn’t know if his blush is out of embarrassment or affection, but he rather likes it. 

“I didn’t mean it,” he says in quiet confession.

“How could you?” Jaemin retorts, his smile turning devilish. Jeno sucks in a breath, halting their steps to give Jaemin a boyish shove that only makes his smile widen. He loves it when Jeno lets go of his _good breeding,_ when he acts like the boy he is. “I’ve managed to tempt you anyhow.”

Jeno’s lips curl into a wry smile. “You were… persistent.”

“It was well worth it,” Jaemin murmurs, dipping his head to plant a kiss onto the soft skin of Jeno’s neck. When Jeno lets out a half-hearted protest, he ventures higher, leaving a trail of kisses up his jaw before pausing at his mouth. “Don’t complain, not when you wore that shirt just to tempt _me_.” 

“You flatter yourself,” Jeno gasps in the middle of their kisses, Jaemin’s lips quick and insistent, the dance now forgotten in place of another. “I was out riding.”

“Evidently.” 

Jaemin grins, pulling at the white silk of Jeno’s shirt, prying it open to let his fingers wander along his collarbones, the panes of his shoulders. He halts his assault on Jeno’s lips in favour of his neck again, claiming that all those high-collars couldn’t be good for his health. Or Jaemin’s heart, which stutters when he nips too hard and Jeno lets out a muted moan.

Jeno looks into his eyes, a heady mixture of exasperation and desire in his own. Grabbing at Jaemin’s crooked cravat, he pulls him in until they are nose to nose, breathing in deeply as if to taste him without touching him. Jaemin’s smile is gone, waiting for Jeno to make a move, trying his best not to bridge that gap first.

“You are a tease, Lee Jeno,” he claims when he isn’t content with just staring at Jeno’s face, the faintest trace of a smirk on it. As he moves in, he realizes he might always be the first to bridge that gap, but it’s fine because when their lips meet, Jeno’s hands drag through his hair in a way that makes his knees go weak. He has to grab Jeno’s waist, his thumbs digging into his skin.

“Come inside with me,” Jeno murmurs into his ear, “and I’ll be whatever you wish me to.”

  
fin.

**Author's Note:**

> (#00145)
> 
> this fic was a trial and error process (my final draft was my third rewrite) but i loved the concept so i'm so glad i stuck with it. thank you to my lovely beta for making this coherent, and for putting up with my complaints. and thank you for reading! playlist will be up soon, and in the meantime, i would love to hear your thoughts! get in touch with me below:
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/dawnblushes)   
>  [cc](https://curiouscat.me/vervains)


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